


The Visit

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Summer and Fall 2015 [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Bitty's friend Sam comes to visit for a weekend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this universe belongs to Ngozi and I'm just playing in it.  
> This work is unbeta'd, so if you notice any howlers, please say so!

Two months before

Bitty watched the calendar move deeper into autumn with both anticipation and dread.

He’d gotten the email from Sam just after Labor Day.

“Hey, Eric. We just got our hockey schedule, and it looks like we have a free weekend Nov. 14-15. Do you have a game then? If so, I’ll look into coming up. I think if I buy early, I can snag a cheap flight. If it’s still ok with you, I mean. I’d like to see your team in person after the Frozen Four last year. Let me know if it works for you. Sam.”

Bitty had been half hoping that they wouldn’t have a game that weekend, by some scheduling anomaly, or that they would be on the road. But when he looked at the schedule, they were at home, with games on Nov. 13 and 14. Princeton and Brown. 

He knew the schedule was online, and that if he lied and said they weren’t playing, it would be all too easy for Sam to find out. Or he already knew, and was just offering Bitty a way out. But he would know if Bitty took it. Bitty had invited him, and Bitty would like to see Sam. Truth be told, Bitty wanted someone from back home to see how he lived at Samwell, sharing the Haus with his teammates, playing real minutes on a nationally respected team, even doing well enough in school to have one of the most sought-after advisers at the university. Dating an NHL player, his mind added helpfully. In love with an NHL player who loved him, it added again. “Hush,” he said aloud, glad there was no one in his room to hear him argue with himself.

On the other hand, he hadn’t shared parts of himself with people in Georgia that were common knowledge at Samwell. Might as well speak plainly, he admonished himself. In Georgia, he was in the closet; at Samwell he was out. He was pretty sure he could trust Sam to respect his confidence, but what if Sam let something slip accidentally? To Seth, their old coach, or Karla, who employed them in the summers at the rink? What if he treated Bitty differently? This was why he had kept his Samwell life and his Georgia life as separate as possible. At least until Jack came to Georgia.

That night, on Skype with Jack, Bitty had run through his whole internal dialogue with Jack.

“I don’t know what I should do,” Bitty said. “If I say he should come, it could just get so weird. If we have two games that weekend, you know Rans and Holster are going to plan a kegster to blow off steam after the game Saturday. I don’t think there’s any way he’s not going to hear something about me being gay. But I did invite him, and if I un-invite him without an explanation, his feelings will be hurt.”

“It’s really up to you, Bits,” Jack said. “We’re away that Friday and home Sunday, so we probably wouldn’t see much of each other that weekend anyway, but I could get the two of you tickets to Sunday’s game.”

“It sounds like you think I should invite him,” Bitty said.

“I think you already did,” Jack pointed out. “You said you told him he should come if he wanted to see the team play.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bitty said. “I’ll tell him to plan on coming, then.”

So Bitty went ahead and emailed Sam back.

“Hi Sam. Sounds great! We have a game on Friday so I won’t be able to meet you at the airport, but we’ll figure something out. If you get a late enough Sunday flight, we can probably get tickets to the Falconers game that afternoon. Send me your flight details when you have them. Eric.”

Really, what could go wrong? If anyone from Madison would be OK with Bitty as he lived at Samwell, it would probably be Sam McElwee. A year younger than Eric, they had started on the Madison hockey team at the same time, and Sam had always been friendly, despite the general population’s suspicions about Bitty. This summer, he’d even apologized for not being a better friend and not standing up more for him. Bitty thought that would have been extremely foolhardy on Sam’s part -- it wasn’t one bully against him, it was at least half the football team -- and was honestly glad Sam hadn’t tried it. Bitty would have felt responsible if he got hurt. 

******************

Two weeks before

Halloween was a blast, as usual, but it would have been so much better if Jack had been there to actually see the puck bunny costume he’d ordered online and then, um, altered, with Lardo’s help. Bitty thought he looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. Jack had been a little weird about it, though. When the picture of the group -- Bitty in Holster’s arms bridal-style -- hit the group chat, Jack’s response had been underwhelming. “Haha.” What was Bitty supposed to make of that?

He found out when they Skyped late that night, Jack just done with a west coast game and the kegster winding down downstairs. Bitty was still wearing the costume when the call connected.

“Seriously, Bits, a puck bunny?” Jack said. “Why?”

“Maybe because at the first kegster I ever went to, Ransom and Holster told me you weren’t there because you already had some puck bunny sucking your dick,” Bitty said, vaguely aware that the alcohol in his system was doing a number on the filter that usually existed between his mouth and brain. “I’m the only puck bunny that gets to suck your dick now.”

Jack’s face reddened, but not with arousal. “Bitty -- Eric -- you know better, don’t you?” he said. “I’ve never wanted to just hook up with random people. They should have known better than to say that.”

Bitty straightened up, pushed the hood with its pink ears off his head, and said, “Of course I know that. You were probably in your room reading. But it’s just a funny costume.”

“It’s a funny costume that’s designed to make people think about having sex with you,” Jack pointed out.

“Well, so? Don’t you like to think about having sex with me? It’s not like I’m gonna do anything with anyone else, whatever they want to think about,” Bitty said. “I mean, I guess I like people thinking I’m attractive, but who doesn’t?”

Jack looked almost confused for a moment. Then he said, “You know you don’t need a sexy bunny costume to be attractive, right? I mean, you’re beautiful, no matter what you wear. You just are. And I’d like that costume a lot better if I was there.”

Bitty’s face was pink enough to match the fabric that strained over his chest.

“Why Mr. Zimmermann! Are you saying that because you want a closer look, or you’d feel better if you were here to defend my honor?”

Jack chuckled a little ruefully. “Definitely the first, and maybe a little of the second?”

“You should know I wouldn’t have worn it anywhere but the Haus, where I know the team has my back,” Bitty said. “But I think we can arrange a closer look next time I come to Providence. And for now, I can take it off.”

Bitty slept in the next morning, and when he woke up and looked at his phone, he realized that the calendar had turned to November. November, when Sam was visiting. It might be time to tell his Hausmates.

Bitty shuffled downstairs in pajama pants and slides to start breakfast in the kitchen that no doubt the frogs had been made to clean. When the school year started, Lardo had declared that if the team wanted Bitty to make breakfast after parties, he shouldn’t be expected to clean the kitchen first. Ransom and Holster had made it known that post-party kitchen clean-up would be taken into account when dibs were distributed. It wasn’t a perfect system; Bitty still found it necessary to disinfect and wipe down the counters, but at least the major spills were mopped up and the trash had been collected and taken out.

He made eggs and sausage and pancakes, good solid hangover food, and a couple of pots of strong coffee. He made sure everyone who lived in the Haus had a plate in front of them before saying, “So, um, I’m having a friend come to visit in a couple of weeks, the weekend we’re playing Brown and Princeton.”

He saw the eyebrows on Ransom and Holster rise in unison. Lardo was giving him a considering look. Chowder was the only one who didn’t react like he’d said something strange. “That’s cool, Bitty. Is it someone from home? I had a friend who wanted to visit me, but the airfare from California was too much.”

“It’s a teammate of mine from high school,” Bitty said. “He’s at Vanderbilt in Nashville now. They have a club team, but they’re off that weekend. Anyway, we coached hockey day camp together over the summer, and he said he’d like to see us play.”

The other three had recovered from their surprise, and Ransom said, “We’d better play well, then.”

“Sure, Bitty,” Holster piped up. “Any friend of yours is welcome here, of course. Anything we can do to make him welcome.”

“He can sleep in my room,” Bitty said. “But with the game that night, I can’t meet him at the airport. Is Shitty coming that weekend, Lardo? Maybe he could give Sam a ride.”

“Maybe,” Lardo said. “I don’t usually know until a couple of days ahead. I can ask.”

“Thanks, Lards,” Bitty said.

He thought the conversation was over, but then Holster jumped in again.

“So is this the guy?”

“What guy?” Bitty asked.

“The out-of-town boyfriend,” Holster said. “Don’t worry. We can keep it quiet. But Lardo told us you were seeing someone.”

“Lardo! That was in confidence!” Bitty said. He honestly hadn’t thought about the imaginary boyfriend in weeks. He’d been able to get away a couple of times in September to spend the night in Providence, never telling where he was going, just saying he was visiting _a friend,_ with a significant look at Lardo. But since their season and Jack’s season had both gotten into gear, there hadn’t been much chance to see one another. There had been the time Jack and Shitty came to their game. That had been great, until it wasn’t. Jack had come down on his own a few times, with Bitty slipping out of the Haus to meet him for dinner or coffee. On those occasions, Jack would pick him up a few blocks from the Haus and drive them to a neighboring town, never visiting the same place twice. Once it got dark, they would have some time alone in the car before Jack dropped Bitty off a block or two from the Haus, early enough that he could claim to have been at the library.

On two memorable occasions, though, Bitty had been able to sneak Jack into and out of the Haus. spending hours in his bed, being quiet enough that Queen Bey’s voice singing through Bitty’s speakers would cover them.

Still, Bitty hadn’t had many unexplained absences lately. If his teammates thought he’d just started studying a lot more than he had before, well, that was fine by him. Actually, he _was_ studying more. Jack insisted, and helped him when they were together. Jack came up with the best rewards for getting his review questions right or finishing another page of an essay.

So if Bitty looked flustered, it wasn’t really because he was embarrassed to have his secret known. It was more that he forgot that he was supposed to have that particular secret in the first place.

Still, he figured relative honesty was the best policy. Or really, the one least likely to get him in trouble later.

“Um, no, not the guy,” Bitty said. “Sam played on on my line all three years, and then he was named captain when he was a senior, after I graduated. He’s a good guy.”

He thought that would be the end of it.

******************

Two days before

Jack Skyped after the game in Tampa.

“I don’t know how people live down here,” he said. “It’s November and it’s still humid.”

“Oh, it can’t be that hot,” Bitty said. 

“It was at least 27 degrees today,” Jack said, working to keep his frown from turning into a smile as he watched Bitty try to do the math.

“Sure, whatever that is in real temperatures,” Bitty finally said. “Were you able to get a couple of tickets for Sunday? It looks like Sam’s not flying out until close to 10, so we can make it to the game.”

“Yeah, two on the glass behind our bench,” Jack said. “We don’t usually get those, but the season ticket-holder who has them was selling them for this game.”

“Jack! You didn’t have to buy them, did you?” 

“Nah, the team sold some tickets up in a box that they usually give to players instead,” Jack said. “I thought Sam might want to be closer to the action, and if you’re with him … “

Jack didn’t have to finish that sentence. Bitty knew what he meant. If Bitty was with Sam, no one would ask about his interest in Jack. No one would be watching him watch the game. He’d be just another former teammate that Jack was being nice to. Bitty nodded once, to show he understood, and then went on.

“Shitty said he’ll pick him up Friday afternoon and drive him out for the Princeton game,” Bitty said. “I’m thinking that means Shitty’s gonna be here all weekend again. He’s been here a lot since that night, and he seems happier.”

Jack smiled. “I’m happy for him,” he said. “And maybe a little jealous. I wish I could just move into your room for the weekend.”

“Thanksgiving’s coming,” Bitty said. “Classes end Tuesday, and I’ll be in Providence from Tuesday night to Sunday.”

“I know,” Jack said. “It can’t come fast enough. Anyway, if you have time, hang out after the game Sunday and I’ll drive Sam to the airport and take you back to Samwell.”

“You don’t have a game Monday, do you?” Bitty said.

“You know I don’t,” Jack said. “And the morning after a game, I won’t have to be at the rink until 10 or so. You have morning practice?”

“At 6:30,” Bitty said.

“Then I can get out of the Haus while everyone’s gone. Sound like a plan?” Jack said.

“Sounds perfect,” Bitty said. “I wish I could be there when you get back Saturday. I love you and I miss you.”

“I love you and I miss you too.”

**************************

Friday, Nov. 13

“Who scheduled a game on Friday the 13th?” Bitty said, pulling the tape off his stick and starting again, trying not to mess it up this time.

“That a problem for you, Bits?” Lardo said, distributing tape amongst the players’ cubicles before filling the water bottles for the team. “I never knew you were superstitious.”

“Bro!” Holster said. “He’s a hockey player. Of course he’s superstitious.”

Bitty ignored him and gave Lardo an embarrassed smile. “Not really, I guess. I think I’m just nervous because I never had anyone come just to see me before. Except my mom, I mean.”

Lardo’s face softened just a little. “It’s OK,” she said. “He’s seen you play before, right? And he watched the Frozen Four games. He knows you’re good.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “And it’s not like I’m the star of the team. But it’s also that he’s coming all this way, and I’m not there to meet him and make sure he’s got everything he needs. What kind of a host am I?”

“The kind who plays hockey, which he’s coming to see,” Lardo said. “I told you, Shitty texted that he found him at the airport, and I told Shitty that you left dinner for both of them in the fridge. They’ll get to the Haus, put their stuff away, eat and head over. It’ll be fine.”

The game was fine. They won 3-2, and Bitty had an assist on the second goal and didn’t embarrass himself otherwise. Shitty and Sam were waiting outside the locker room when Bitty came out.

“You picked a good one, brah,” Shitty said into Bitty’s ear when he hugged him hello. Bitty didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant by that, because Shitty was already releasing him and saying loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, “When he got in the car, he said he was surprised I was wearing pants. Before he said anything else. Good chirp game.”

Back at the Haus, the team dug into the pies Bitty made that afternoon and left on the counter before filtering out of the kitchen.

“Tonight’s gonna be kinda quiet because we have a game tomorrow,” Bitty explained to Sam, who was helping collect plates and forks for Bitty to wash. “But it means no practice tomorrow. I should probably get a little work done in the morning, but if you want we can head into Boston for lunch and spend a few hours? I just need to be at the rink by 5:30. You can walk around campus or hang here or whatever.”

“Whatever. I have some work too, so I can do that,” Sam said. “Can I ask you a question, though?”

Sam looked a little nervous. Did someone already open their big mouth about Bitty being gay? Well, he’d known it was going to come up. He swallowed and said, “Sure.”

“Am I getting in your way this weekend?” Sam asked. “I heard Shitty say to Lardo that ‘it looks like Bitty has a type.’ Is there someone you’d rather hang with? Because I can entertain myself.”

Bitty looked at Sam, then looked again, trying to see him like it was the first time. He could see a certain similarity. Sam was nowhere as big as Jack, but he had the dark hair and the light eyes -- green in Sam’s case -- and he was in good shape. Dressed better than Jack, if Bitty was honest.

“What it means is Shitty is an idiot,” Bitty finally said. “For all his lectures about heteronormativity and letting people define themselves -- did you get some of that on the way here? I suppose so, and I apologize -- he gets himself way too involved in people’s personal business and sees things that aren’t there.”

“Cool,” Sam said. “Just, if you need some time, just tell me, right?”

After the dishes were washed, Bitty and Sam walked into the living room, where Shitty and Lardo were pulling their coats on. “We’re headed out for a drink,” Shitty said. “You two want to come?”

Bitty shook his head. He did not want one-on-one (or two-on-two) time with Shitty just now.

“Aww, that sounds nice, but we really can’t,” Bitty said. “We’re both underage, and I have to play hockey tomorrow. Maybe another time?”

Like when we’re with Jack and no one looks at me twice, Bitty thought.

“Suit yourself,” Shitty said.

After they left, Sam and Bitty got into a Mario Kart tournament with Chowder and Holster, since Ransom was upstairs studying for a test. “We’re probably gonna head into Boston around noon tomorrow if anyone wants to come,” Bitty said.

“Sounds fun,” Chowder said. “But Cait and I already have plans.”

“Yeah, and you and Sam probably could use the time to catch up,” Holster said.

“It’s really fine if you want to come,” Bitty said. 

“Nah, bro, we’ve got a kegster to prepare for,” Holster said.

They went upstairs a little later, only to argue over who should get the bed and who should get the air mattress.

“You’re the guest,” Bitty said. “My mama would skin me if she knew I made a guest sleep on the air mattress.”

“But you have a game tomorrow,” Sam said. “How ‘bout you take the bed tonight, and then tomorrow we can switch?”

“All right,” Bitty said. “I guess that’s fair.”

They didn’t talk much after that, but Bitty lay awake for a while, listening to Sam move around on the mattress, then listening to his breath even out as he fell asleep. He’d called Jack while Sam was in the bathroom, but Jack was with Tater, so their conversation had been short and awkward, ending on a “See you Sunday,” without their usual “I love you”s. Finally, when he was sure Sam was asleep, he took his phone and texted Jack. _I love you and I miss you._

Two minutes later, Jack texted back. _I love you and I miss you too. Until Sunday._

**************************

Saturday, Nov. 14

Saturday breakfast at the Haus was a catch-as-catch can affair. Bitty scrambled eggs and made toast for Sam and himself. Holster and Ransom made do with peanut butter on bagels, and Lardo made instant oatmeal for two and went back to her room.

Chowder hadn’t yet shown himself when Bitty said, “I’m gonna head to the library for a couple of hours. Then we can catch the noon shuttle. You can come with, or you’re welcome to stay here and study in my room, or down here, or explore the campus.”

“I think I’ll hang here if it’s all the same to you,” Sam said. “I just have some reading.”

“Then I’ll be back by 11:30,” Bitty said. 

He texted Jack as he walked.

_Already on my way to Founders. Proud of me?_

Jack texted back, _Sam’s a good influence._

By 11:15, Bitty had found the books he needed and made a decent start at taking notes, but the words were starting to run together. He packed everything up and made his way back to the Haus, hoping Sam wasn’t too bored.

He needn’t have worried. He walked in the back door to an empty kitchen and heard laughter coming from the living room. When he poked his head through the door, he found Sam holding court, perched on the back of the toxic green couch, his feet on the seat, right in the middle. Holster and Ransom were there, and Chowder and Farmer, and even Dex and Nursey. Given the way they fell silent when he entered the room, he was pretty sure he knew what the topic was.

“Hey, Bitty, I didn’t know you were captain of your old team,” Ransom said. “How come you never said?”

Bitty shrugged.

“After I saw how … different … this team was, it didn’t seem important,” he said.

“It’s OK,” Sam said. “You can say this team is better. I couldn’t believe how much harder it was on the Vanderbilt team, and that’s a club. I rode the bench most of the year last year, and I was just grateful to be on the team.”

“It was like a whole different game,” Bitty said. “When I started, I didn’t know if I was even gonna make it.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bits,” Holster said. “We had your back.”

“I think you’re forgetting, Holster, you said I was like a fainting goat,” Bitty said.

“We could have made a play out of it,” Ransom said.

Sam was looking curiously at the captains. “Made a play of what?”

The color rise in Bitty’s cheeks as he said, 

“When I first came here, I’d collapse onto the ice every time someone even came close to checking me. I’m pretty sure the coaches thought they’d have to cut me.”

“They wouldn't have -- ” Holster started to say.

Bitty continued without acknowledging him. “And then after my concussion, when I got back last year, it happened again, and I know the coaches thought they’d have to cut me, because they told me so. If it wasn’t for Jack helping me through it …”

Lord, why had he said that? Bitty kept his eyes opened wide, trying to keep the embarrassed tears from falling. He stalked out of the living room, headed upstairs and flopped face-first on his bed. 

It was less than a minute before he heard Sam in the doorway.

“Eric?” 

He sounded unsure.

Bitty pushed himself up, rolled onto his hip and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “You can come in.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Sam said. “And I think everyone else is too. Nobody meant to upset you. Chowder just asked if you were as ‘s’wawsome’ of a teammate when you were in high school, and I was telling them what a great captain you were -- how you made sure everyone got along, and how you made the people who never even played before feel welcome, and how you always fed everyone. I didn’t know how rough it was on you when you got here. You’re so fast, and you played so well in the games I saw on TV. And it seemed like you and Zimmermann were such good friends. But you got past it, didn’t you? That’s something to be proud of.”

Bitty nodded and shrugged. “I guess.”

He took a breath. “I mean, I was really looking forward to you coming, not just because I wanted to see you, but I wanted someone from home to see how well I was doing. To see me as, I don’t know, a success. I mean, most people in Madison never saw me as anything good, and here it’s different, and I just wanted someone from there to know. It sounds stupid when I say it like that.”

Sam crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Bitty. He put a hand on his back and rubbed small circles.

“It’s not stupid,” he said. “I mean, you’re wrong. The whole hockey team in Madison liked you and respected you and you’d better believe they know what you’ve accomplished and they look up to you. If it was harder than they know about, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. And no one was making fun of you downstairs. Really.”

Bitty wiped at his eyes again.

“Lord, I’m a mess. And to think the thing I was worried about was you finding out I’m gay.”

Sam’s hand stopped moving on Bitty’s back, and Bitty froze, then buried his face in his hands.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I just said that,” Bitty said through his hands. “Gracious. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want, I’m sure you could sleep up in the attic with Ransom and Holster --”

Sam started rubbing his back again.

“Eric,” he said. “Eric, it’s OK. I mean, I wasn’t sure, but after high school? Not that much of a surprise. Really. I’m fine sharing your room, if it’s still OK with you.” 

Sam pulled his hand back and straightened up. “Do you still want to go to Boston? Because you said something about a noon shuttle.”

“Sure,” Bitty said, straightening up himself. “Let me wash my face and we can go.”

When Bitty appeared downstairs, everyone was trying to look busy, an effect they ruined by looking up as soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs.

Ransom and Holster stepped forward.

“Bitty, we’re sorry,” Holster said. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“And we didn’t know about the coaches saying they’d cut you after your concussion,” Ransom said. “Bro, you should have said. We would have helped too. We got your back, you know that.”

Bitty offered them a weak smile and said, “It’s fine, really. I was the one who brought all that up. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just overwrought, I guess.”

“No worries, dude,” Ransom said. “Good thing you’ve got your boy Sam here. Still going into the city?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Sure you don’t want to come.”

“Nah, bro,” Holster said. “Captainly duties call.”

As they walked to the shuttle stop, Sam bumped Bitty’s shoulder and said, “You were going to send me to sleep with them to be safe from the gay? What’s their story?”

Bitty thought for a moment.

“No one really knows,” he said. “Ransom has a girlfriend, but it doesn’t seem to come between them.”

They got to Boston in time to buy lunch off a stand on the common and walk the Freedom Trail on their own, stopping to read the plaques that marked historic sites. 

Sam insisted on taking a picture of every Dunkin’ Donuts they passed, framing the shots to show more than one whenever possible. “How do people eat so many doughnuts?” he wondered. 

“It's not really the doughnuts,” Bitty said. “I think it's the coffee.”

Bitty took his opportunity to stop at Sur La Table -- “It sounds silly, but they have these serrated peelers that really work on soft fruits and vegetables” -- and Sam wanted a Bruins T-shirt as a souvenir. 

“Don't wear that tomorrow,” Bitty said. “I'm sure we can dig up a Falconers shirt in the Haus for you, and we can probably get Jack to sign it.”

“Are we gonna actually get to see him?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” Bitty said. “He said if we could wait after the game he’d drive you to the airport so we wouldn't have to worry about the bus schedule.”

“Really? You guys really are good friends, aren't you?”

“Well, let's just say I got him an A in a class where making a pie was his final project,” Bitty said. “And he made it possible for me to stay on the team.”

On the bus back to Samwell, Sam looked at him for a long moment before saying, “So, can I ask you a question?”

Bitty felt like he'd already given up all his secrets, at least those that were his to tell, so he said, “Sure.”

“Does your whole team know you're gay?”

Was that all? 

“Good lord, yes,” Bitty said. “The whole campus, more like it. Ransom and Holster have tried to set me up with guys from just about every group they can think of, and they know everybody.”

“And nobody minds?” Sam persisted.

“At Samwell? Not hardly,” Bitty said. “I was scared to come out at first, but it was one of the best things I ever did. I finally got to know what it was like to go to a party and feel like I might meet someone, you know? It wouldn't have to be everyone else paired up and me picking up the cups. And if I like a guy here I feel like it's OK if I'm maybe a little more obvious. Even straight guys at Samwell usually don't get upset if someone -- a guy --seems interested. They just say say something like ‘thanks but no thanks’ without trying to pound you into the pavement.”

“That's cool,” Sam said, considering. “So all those set ups and everything, you have a boyfriend? Someone I'm keeping you from?”

Bitty sighed.

“The thing about those set-ups? It's nice Ransom and Holster want to help, but they've never really worked out for me,” he said. “So this year, just to get them to stop, I told them I had a long-distance boyfriend. I'm kind of afraid they might think you're him, but I thought they'd get the right idea if we just didn't act like that. I'm not sure they have, though.”

“Well, why couldn't I be?”

“Why not, Sam? Are you seriously asking me that? Are you even attracted to me? I mean, do you even like boys?”

It was Sam’s turn to hesitate. “No, I'm not attracted to you like that,” he said. “I can see how people would think you're cute and all, but my type usually comes with different parts.”

“Then why would you do it?” Bitty asked.

“It would be fun to put one over on your team,” Sam said. “It wouldn't be hard, if that's what they think already. And it would help you out. This way, you can use me as an excuse not to get set up, but if you meet someone you like, you can just say we broke up. Say the long distance thing was harder than you thought, and we gave up. No hard feelings.”

Bitty considered. “It would mean we'd have to show a certain amount of affection at the kegster tonight,” he said. “Nothing blatant. Just like if you put your arm around me, or if we danced together. But there will be girls there and you know you can't hook up, or I'd have to break up with you right away.”

“Nah, there's this girl back in Nashville -- I wouldn't do that to her,” Sam said.

Bitty pushed his shoulder into Sam’s. “Oh, but you would cheat with me?”

“Don't think it's cheating if we both know we're pretending,” Sam said.

Bitty barely made it into the locker room before the coaches would have counted him as late.

“You and Sam have a good time?” Nursey asked. “See all the sights?”

“Yes, we did, thanks for asking,” Bitty said as coolly as he could.

“Wait. Who’s Sam?” Tango asked.

“Bitty's special friend from Georgia,” Holster said.

“Hush your mouth,” Bitty said.

“The one who was here last night?” Tango asked. 

“The very same,” Ransom said. “Came to watch Bitty play, so let’s put on a show.”

Lardo came in, noted Bitty’s presence, and said, “Shitty’s still here, so he can sit with Sam if that’s OK?”

Bitty shrugged.

“Fine with me,” he said.

The game was tougher than the night before, a physical back-and-forth that went down to the last minute. Bitty missed a couple of shifts in the third period after taking a hard check into the glass that left him struggling to draw breath and the shoulder on one side and the ribs on the other sore. But after a few minutes to catch his breath, he signalled to Coach Hall that he was ready to take the next shift with his line. He let everyone see him work to pull himself over the boards, then skated more slowly than usual to the face-off in the offensive zone. Then when Ollie won the puck cleanly back to Ransom, Bitty zipped behind the D to just off the left post. He took the pass and tipped it in with less than 30 seconds to go.

In the next moment, he was back on the ice, this time with his own team piled on top. It really wasn’t very comfortable, given the bruises he knew would bloom over the next few hours, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face all the same.

The mood in the locker room was celebratory, and no one was in too much of a hurry. Bitty had just pulled his boxer briefs on when there was a knock at the door and Shitty poked his head in.

“OK if Sam comes in?” he asked. “I gotta go make tub juice. By the way, Bits, excellent fake-out, making them think you couldn’t move so fast.”

Holster looked at Bitty, saw him nod at Shitty’s question and and said, “Sure thing.”

Sam came and sat near Bitty while he finished dressing. Most of the players kept their eyes on the floor or on their own cubicles, but Sam looked frankly at Bitty’s torso. “Those’ll hurt tomorrow,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bitty agreed. “But we won, so it’s worth it.”

Sam raised his hand and traced the discoloration on Bitty’s shoulder with one finger.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

Bitty shrugged with his good shoulder. “I got worse in high school.”

If the other players forgot that he played no-check hockey in high school, so much the better. They wouldn't ask where his bruises in high school came from. Sam knew, but Bitty had to give him points for his acting ability.

Bitty pulled his coat on and dragged the strap of his bag across his chest. “Ready to be initiated into the society of those who have survived Shitty’s tub juice?” He winced and glanced at his shoulder. “At least I think I can get out of doing a kegstand with this.”

Bitty pulled his phone out as they walked. He hadn’t wanted to check it while he was in the locker room; burying himself in a text conversation while his ostensible boyfriend was there would seem strange.

As he expected, there was a series of texts from Jack.

_Shitty said you got hit hard. Text me when you can to let me know if you’re OK._

A minute later:

_I mean really OK, not what you tell Ransom and Holster._

Then:

_Shitty says you’re still on the bench, mon lapin._

Finally:

_You scored! I’m so proud of you! Still, text me. I worry._

Bitty grinned as texted back, _Stop worrying. Bumps and bruises. I wish you were here to kiss them better._

Seconds later, Jack replied, _Me too. I wish you were alone tonight so we could skype._

Bitty sighed as he said, _Kegster tonight anyway. Shitty’s here. He’d come looking for me. But I’ll text you later._

 _OK,_ Jack texted back. _I love you and I miss you._

 _I love you and I miss you,_ Bitty responded before putting his phone away.

“Who’s that?” Sam asked.

“Jack,” Bitty said, and realized it might seem odd. “He was just letting me know where to get the tickets for tomorrow.”

They were among the last ones back at the Haus, and Bitty slipped upstairs to change into shorts. These parties always got ungodly hot. But the tank top he’d intended to wear would expose his shoulder, so he threw a light hoody over it.

Maybe he drank more than he should to mask the pain. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of scoring the game-winner and in dramatic fashion. Whatever it was, only a half-hour in, Bitty found himself dancing in the midst of a crowd, mostly teammates, but some volleyball players and Sam too. When the song changed and the opening beat of “Crazy in Love” came on, Holster and Ransom pushed Sam up behind Bitty. “Come on, you crazy kids, dance like you know each other,” Holster said.

Sam put his hands on Bitty’s hips but kept a couple of inches between their bodies. He leaned close to Bitty’s ear so Bitty could hear him say, “This OK?”

Bitty grinned up at him. 

“You're fine, darlin’,” he said. 

As they danced, Bitty noticed a few eyes on him and more on Sam. When they took a break and got more drinks, Bitty leaned against the wall and tugged Sam down so they could talk.

“You sure about not hooking up? Because a lot of people looked interested,” he said. “We could suddenly break up.”

“Eric, you wound me,” Sam said. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Bitty giggled and kissed Sam on the cheek. 

They left before the party broke up, Bitty to ice his shoulder and ribs and Sam to, well, watch him. 

“You really can stay at the party,” Bitty said. “I’m just going to ice the bruises and go to sleep. And you’re getting the bed tonight, no arguments.”

“What kind of a boyfriend would party while you're nursing your injuries?” Sam said. 

“I guess,” Bitty said, detouring into the kitchen to fill a couple of plastic bags with ice.

Bitty used the bathroom first, and called his boyfriend. The call went to voicemail. “I’m not sure where you are, but Sam’s still hanging out,” Bitty said. “I’m OK, and I’ll call again if I get a minute. I love you.”

Bitty was making himself as comfortable as he could on the air mattress, one ice bag under his shoulder and one resting on his ribs, while Sam played with his phone on the bed. “So tell me about the girl,” Bitty had just said, when a knock came on the door.

It was Chowder.

“Sam, are you in there?” he said through the door. “I need a partner for beer pong against Caitlin and April. I’d usually ask Bitty, but with his arm and all …”

Bitty huffed a sigh. They must be believing this boyfriend thing. If it was just him in the room Chowder would have walked right in.

“Go ahead,” Bitty said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Sam asked. 

“I’m sure,” Bitty said, “Tell them that I told you I just wanted to go to sleep.”

“OK,” Sam said, and opened the door. “Fine, Chowder, if you need me that much. Eric’s pretty tired.”

When the door closed behind him, Bitty grabbed his phone and laptop and sat on the bed.

He frowned minutely when he realized there was no response to his call to Jack, but he texted, “Sam went to play beer pong. The room is mine for for now. Skype?”

He opened the Skype window on his laptop and waited, looking at the group chat on the phone. Jack’s response wasn’t immediate, and Bitty had time to see a picture that Shitty had posted of the group dancing. It showed him in the middle, with Sam’s hands on his hips and Sam’s face over Bitty’s shoulder, flanked by Ransom and Holster. Bitty hadn’t even seen a camera or a phone; his face was turned toward Sam’s. It must have been when Sam checked in to make to sure the dancing was OK, Bitty thought.

Further down there was a picture of Bitty and Sam leaning against the wall, red solo cups in hand, Bitty reaching up a bit to kiss Sam’s cheek. Nursey had posted it with the caption, “Get it, Bitty!”

These boys, Bitty thought. Why were they so fascinated by the idea that he had a boyfriend? They hadn’t even been terribly demonstrative. For goodness sake, Shitty kissed people all the time -- and not on the cheek -- and Bitty had been know to kiss the cheeks of boys he’d dated or even flirted with before. What was their problem? And most of the people on the chat had been at the party anyway. Why post those pictures at all?

At least it didn’t look like Jack had seen the pictures yet. He hadn’t added anything to the chat since a “Good game, everyone! Congratulations!” following Shitty’s over-the-top announcement when the buzzer had gone off.

Finally, Bitty saw the notification that Jack was online. He connected the call, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he could explain about Sam before Jack saw the pictures. And the caption.

As soon as he saw Jack, he knew he was wrong. Jack didn’t look angry, really, or even hurt. But his face was blank, closed off, like in the early days when Bitty had believed that he might just be a hockey robot.

“Why aren’t you still enjoying the party?” Jack asked. “Looks like you’re pretty popular tonight.”

Bitty’s heart fell, but he did his best to keep his voice and expression light.

“I wanted a chance to see you,” he said. “And it really does hurt.” He moved back just a bit so Jack could see the plastic bag of ice he was holding on his shoulder.”

Jack’s face darkened a bit.

“How bad is it?” he asked. “Did the trainers look at it?”

“Of course, and it’s just bruised,” Bitty said. “The ribs are worse --” he saw Jack’s expression alter again -- “No, they didn’t think I needed x-rays. They’re pretty sure nothing’s broken. But it’s hard to ice both sides at once.”

“I would help you if I was there,” Jack said. 

“I know you would, sweetheart,” Bitty said. 

There was a beat of silence.

“Why isn’t Sam there? Looks like he wouldn’t mind,” Jack said, and looked down.

He was ashamed of himself, Bitty suddenly realized. He’d thought Jack would be jealous, and he was right, but Jack was ashamed of feeling that way. This boy.

“It’s not like that,” Bitty said gently. “He’s my friend, but not like that.”

“He was touching you,” Jack said. “You were having a good time. Both of you.”

“We were dancing,” Bitty said. “You’ve seen me dance with people before. Lord, Jack, Ransom and Holster and even Shitty and Lardo get way more in my space than Sam did. And it would look weird if he was my boyfriend and we danced without touching at all.”

“Your boyfriend?” Now Jack wasn’t even looking at him, but from what Bitty could see, his expression did look hurt. “I thought he didn’t even know you were gay.”

Bitty let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, that kind of fell apart today,” Bitty said. “I thought my esteemed captains were making fun of my checking problem, and I got upset and made everything worse.”

“OK,” Jack said, confused. “Why would they do that?”

“They wouldn’t, and they weren’t,” Bitty said. “I was just so scared when I realized they were talking about me with Sam I panicked, and I ended up telling him about the whole mess.”

Jack nodded. He would understand the anxiety that could come from people sharing information you thought was private.

“He was so nice about it,” Bitty said. “And I blurted out that I’d been worried about him finding out about me and …”

Jack’s eyes were focused intently on Bitty now, like he could see what he was going to say before the word came out of his mouth.

“And?”

“And he was fine with it. He said he wasn’t really surprised, and he didn’t care,” Bitty said. “But then when I explained about the fake long-distance boyfriend, and that I was hoping the team would get the message that it wasn’t him if we just didn’t act like boyfriends, he said he could pretend for the weekend if it would get the team off my back. He’ll leave tomorrow and the team will think he’s my hometown honey, and then, he said, if I meet someone I do want to date, I can just say we broke it off because of the distance.”

Jack was still staring at him. “And you really think he doesn’t want anything else with you?” he asked. “‘Cause I have to say that this sounds like the plot of one of Holster’s movies, where you would try this, then have a series of misunderstandings and then end up living happily ever after.”

Bitty couldn’t help giggling a little at that.

“Nope,” Bitty said. “I think he was using me as a shield against hooking up tonight because there’s a girl in Nashville.”

Jack finally cracked a small smile. “That sounds like a country song.”

“Maybe,” Bitty agreed. “And between us, I’m not sure he’s as straight as he says. But maybe that’s just me living at Samwell. It seems possible that anyone might not be strictly straight here. But you have nothing to worry about. Kissing him on the cheek was like kissing … a cousin, I guess.”

“Well, if he’s your pretend boyfriend, why doesn’t he pretend to take care of you by helping with the ice?” Jack asked.

“Because I pleaded exhaustion to get him out of the room so I could call you,” Bitty said. “Because I wanted to talk to my actual boyfriend. Who I love very much.”

“Me too, Bits. Tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “I’m supposed to think he’s your boyfriend, too, right? Does that mean I get to give him the shovel talk tomorrow?”

Bitty giggled again. “You wouldn’t. Or maybe you would, but I think Shitty already did.”

“We’ll see,” Jack said. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you too. Good night.”

Bitty closed his laptop, plugged it in and slid it under the bed. By the time Sam returned, he was snuggled as comfortably as he could be on the air mattress, fingers of his left hand curled securely around Senor Bun under the pillow.

******************

Sunday, Nov. 15

When Bitty woke up, the Haus was mostly quiet. Sam snuffled a little in the bed somewhere above him, and he heard water rush in the pipes as a toilet flushed in one of the bathrooms. The light was golden still, so it was early, but not absurdly so.

It wasn’t until Bitty tried to roll over to look at the time on his phone that he remembered his injuries. Twisting hurt his ribs, and reaching hurt his shoulder. He used his good hand to pull his shirt up to look at the bruises on his side. He prodded at them a bit, wanting to feel the pain. Then he poked at his shoulder. The trainer was right. The bruises hurt -- and would for days yet -- but there was nothing seriously wrong.

After a few moments, he pushed himself up and checked the time. 7:30. At least another hour to sleep, then get up and make breakfast. The noon shuttle would take them into Boston, and then they could catch another bus to Providence, and get there in time to make it to the 3 p.m. game. After the game, they could grab a bite with Jack and then they would drop Sam at the airport and then Jack would drive him back here and they could spend the whole night together.

In the bed where Sam was snuffling. There would be time this morning to wash the sheets, Bitty told himself.

Since his phone was still in hand, he texted Jack. _Good morning, honey._

No immediate response. Jack was probably out running or something already.

He wasn’t hungover, not really. He’d only had the one cup of tub juice. Well, one and a half. And he’d gone to sleep early. Maybe he should get up and take stock of things, see if the frogs had cleaned at least the kitchen. He could work on his essay downstairs while everyone else was asleep. He didn’t know what time Sam had stumbled in, but stumble he had, all but tripping over Bitty. It would be rude to wake him now. Bitty sighed with the realization that although he had time to sleep longer, it wasn’t going to happen. Was this what it was like to be Jack, early to bed and early to rise?

He crawled out of his makeshift bed and grabbed his phone and laptop on the way out of his room. After a quick stop in the bathroom, he padded downstairs, stopping at the bottom to put his slides on his feet before touching the floor where the party had been.

The hallway wasn't too bad, and it looked like someone had made an effort to pick up the empty cups in the living room. Whiskey was curled on the nasty couch, but at least he was on a blanket. Tango sprawled on the floor next to a beanbag chair. Bitty wrinkled his nose. That child would live to regret it.

The kitchen was clean, at least for a certain value of clean, and Bitty reflected that the addition of Lardo to the Haus had led to much better training of the frogs and tadpoles.

He started coffee before giving the counter and table top a wipedown with bleach solution, then went and retrieved the box of breakfast food he'd stored in the basement.

He knew he had at least a couple of hours before the rest of the house was hungry, so there was time for cinnamon rolls. The sweet yeast dough came together quickly and he set it on the stovetop with the oven just on warm underneath to rise.

Then he looked balefully at his laptop. His essay wasn't due until Friday, but he had barely begun. Early mornings were when he got some of his best work done, when no one was up to distract him.

Jack was up, but not available to distract him. He'd texted back when Bitty was elbow-deep in kneading his dough. _Good morning! Can't wait to see you later! Heading out for breakfast with Tater._

Well, it wouldn't be a good idea to Skype Jack from the kitchen with the tadpoles asleep in the living room. 

But Mama would definitely be up by 8:40, and worship service wasn't until 10:30, so she'd be home, probably having a second cup of coffee while she read the paper. Bitty tried to call every weekend, but he'd been too busy up until now, and once the day got going, well, it wouldn't happen then.

He texted his mother. _Can I Skype you now?_

The reply came within a minute. _Of course. Everything all right?_

Bitty opened the Skype app on his laptop and connected the call.

“Hi, Mama. I'm fine,” he said. “It's just I'm going to busy later, so I thought I'd call now.”

“I'm glad you did,” she said, casting her eyes over his image on the screen. “You in the kitchen already?”

“Yes, Mama,” Bitty said. “Sam’s visiting, and he’s still sleeping in my room.”

“Sam?”

“Sam McElwee? From the rink? And my old team?” Bitty clarified.

“Yes, I remember him,” his mama said. “He was always a nice boy. I just didn't realize the two of you were close enough to be on visiting terms.”

Bitty was momentarily taken aback. What did that mean? 

“We got to be better friends this summer,” he defended. (Against what? Why shouldn't his friends visit?) “And he said he'd like to see the team play. His team had the weekend off, and we had two games, so it worked out.”

She still looked doubtful.

“And it's working out, having him there?” she asked.

“It's been a lot of fun,” Bitty said. “Well, I kind of got hit hard in the game yesterday, but I scored the winning goal, so that was pretty good.”

“Pretty good, Dicky? That's great,” his mama beamed. “I'll make sure to tell your father.”

“Anyway, there was a party last night after the game, but I went to bed pretty early. That’s why I'm up and everyone else is asleep. I have to be quiet because a couple of the tadpoles -- freshmen -- are crashed out in the living room.”

“So what are you making for breakfast then?” she asked. 

“I have cinnamon rolls rising and I'll do scrambled eggs and hash browns when people get up,” Bitty said. “I can't let Sam sleep too late because we’re going to the Falconers game in Providence this afternoon.”

“Does Jack know you're coming?”

“‘Course, Mama,” Bitty said. “He got us tickets. I think we're going to meet up and get dinner after the game.”

“All right,” she said. “You be sure and tell Jack I said hello. Oh, and Sam, too. Now let me tell you about the football game Friday …”

By the time Bitty got off the phone, fully caught up on the status of Morgan County football (as well as the feud between two of the cheerleaders’ mothers), it was time to mix the cinnamon filling and roll out the dough.

Bitty had the dough in a couple of neat rectangles in front of him. He was sprinkling the cinnamon and sugar and butter mixture evenly over each piece of dough when he heard the front door to the Haus open. A moment later, Chowder was in the kitchen.

“Hey, Bitty. You the only one up so far?”

“So far as I know,” Bitty said. “I haven’t heard anyone else. Did you stay with Caitlin last night?”

“Yeah,” Chowder said, pouring himself coffee and adding nearly half a cup of milk and two heaping teaspoons of sugar. “Nursey was pretty schwasted, and it didn’t look like Dex was so much better, so I told them they could stay in my room. But Cait had practice this morning, so I had to get up. Anything I can do to help?”

“Drink your coffee and let me finish these,” Bitty said. “Then we can get the potatoes ready for the hash browns.”

Bitty rolled each batch of dough tightly, then used a length of unflavored dental floss to slice each roll into a dozen even pieces. He placed the cinnamon rolls on baking sheets and set them back on the stovetop to rise again. 

Then he brought the bag of potatoes, two vegetable peelers and a grater to the table. He and Chowder set to peeling the potatoes, and Chowder said, “Sam seems nice. Sorry if I interfered last night. I didn’t mean to keep him downstairs so long.”

“That’s all right, Chowder,” Bitty said. “I was sound asleep, really. Did y’all have fun?”

“We did,” Chowder said. “He’s pretty good at beer pong. We beat Farmer and April.”

“And she still took you home?” Bitty chirped.

“Yeah,” Chowder smiled, a sweet smile that made Bitty feel like he was intruding on an intimate moment. Bitty got up to slide the cinnamon rolls into the oven.

When he turned back to the table, Chowder was talking again.

“Anyway, Lardo and Shitty took us out in the next game,” Chowder said. “But Sam said you were pretty exhausted, so he hung out and told us about his hockey team. We didn’t talk about you, I promise.”

Bitty shook his head. “It’s OK,” he said. “I know Sam wouldn’t say anything I’d mind. I overreacted yesterday. It’s just, I’ve kept Madison and Samwell really separate up ‘til now, and I can’t really be myself with most people there, but I want them to know I’m doing good -- whether because I want them to be proud of me or because I want to spite them, I don’t know. And when I heard you all laughing, I just felt like y’all must be making fun of me. But Sam and I talked about it. He wouldn’t do that, and I think I knew that all along. I just embarrassed myself.”

“We wouldn’t do that either, Bitty,” Chowder said, and Lord, it looked like he might cry at the thought of Bitty being upset. 

“We’ve all got your back, you know that. And if anyone came around and talked you down, you know we’d have something to say, but Sam … he’s cool,” Chowder said. “He even helped clean up.”

“Thanks, Chowder,” Bitty said, gathering the grated potatoes in a clean dish towel and squeezing the moisture out. “It feels kind of good having a connection between the two places I think of as home.”

“You’re welcome, Bitty,” Chowder said. “Do you think it’s late enough that I can wake Dex and Nursey up?”

“They’re in your room, Chowder,” Bitty said. “I think you can wake them whenever you want. But could you wake Sam? Breakfast’ll be done in about half an hour, and then we have to scoot out of here. We’re going to Providence for the game today.”

By the time breakfast (for 11 people) was done and Bitty was trying to get upstairs to finally get a shower, he knew they were cutting it close to make the shuttle. And if the missed the shuttle, they might miss the bus, and Bitty definitely didn't have the money for an Uber all the way to

Boston -- or Providence, which come to think of it might be cheaper than an Uber to Boston and the bus from Boston … and Jack had the money but Bitty wouldn't even _think_ of asking him …

Bitty nearly crashed head-on into Shitty in the hallway he was so wound up in his thoughts. Shitty reached out to steady Bitty and grabbed his shower caddy before it fell. 

“You OK, Bits?” 

“Sorry. Just in a hurry. Sam and I have to get the next shuttle if we want to make the Providence bus, and he really wanted to go to the Falconers game,” Bitty said.

“You're going to see Jack?” Shitty asked. 

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “He got us the tickets and he said he'd meet us after. But I really have to get going.”

“No worries, brah,” Shitty said. “It’ll be time for me to get out of Lardo’s hair soon, and I can afford a detour on the way to Cambridge. Can’t stay for the game, though.”

“You're not going to smoke before you drive?” Bitty asked.

“Brah, you wound me,” Shitty said. 

“All right, sorry,” Bitty said. “Thanks. I'll go tell Sam we don't have to leave quite as soon.”

“He’s in your room? I'll tell him,” Shitty said.

The ride to Providence with Shitty could have been more awkward, Bitty thought, but it was hard to see how.

When Bitty and Sam trooped downstairs, Bitty in the replica jersey Jack had signed for him after the team caravanned to the first game in Providence, Sam in a Zimmermann shirseys he'd borrowed from Chowder (I'll buy my own at the game and send this one back with Bitty,” he promised), Shitty had looked a little queasy. 

He nodded towards the door and said, “Are you two gonna share the back seat? Because I don't want you doing anything to distract me while I drive.”

Bitty felt himself turn beet red and said, “We’re not a couple of teenagers! Sam’s taller -- he can take the front seat.”

“Whatever you say,” Shitty said and climbed behind the wheel of his ancient Honda Civic. It was so small even Bitty had to squeeze in the back seat. 

Sam asked Shitty polite questions about law school and listened politely to Shitty’s rants about the dominant white patriarchy without ever once commenting on the fact that Shitty was a rich, white, cisgender, apparently heterosexual man who seemed to benefitting from the system. Bitty silently blessed Sam’s parents for instilling the same level of manners his own family required from him.

Shitty dropped them as close as he could get to the door of the Dunkin’ Donuts Center and said, “You kids have fun. Tell Jack I said to call me if he wants to talk later.”

Bitty picked up their tickets from will-call and found a card in the envelope directing them to take it to the first-level security office after the game. A staff member would escort them to the locker room.

Bitty showed the card to Sam. “Cool! I thought we'd just meet him somewhere.”

They stopped at souvenir stall to get Sam his own T-shirt. Bitty was surprised when he chose a Zimmermann jersey the same as the one he had borrowed from Chowder. “You don’t have to get a Zimmerman T-shirt just because Jack’s my friend,” Bitty said. “You could get a Mashkov, or just one that says Falconers.”

“Come on, Eric, any friend of yours, right?” Sam said, then looked at Bitty’s face. “Kidding. I know I can’t claim Jack’s my friend because you introduced us. But look at it this way: I’ve know him better than any other NHL player. And you like him, so I probably would too.”

“If you say so. It’s just, if we meet Jack at the locker room, you might be able to get other players to sign for you too. I don’t know if you want a bunch of autographs on a Zimmermann shirt.”

“Why not?” Sam said. “It’s not like I’m gonna sell it or anything.”

Their seats were as Jack promised: right on the glass about halfway down the Falconers bench. Jack threw Bitty and Sam a grin and tapped the glass on his way out for warmups, but once it was time for the, game, he barely glanced at them. Bitty wasn’t surprised at all; he’d seen Jack in “hockey robot” mode in just about every game he’d played. Actually, he thought Jack looked a little looser than he had when he first played with him. His team -- good Lord Mashkov was huge -- jostled him and joked until they got smiles. Bitty knew Jack sometimes worried about what his team thought of him, but from what he could see, they liked him.

The game was physical. The team from Ottawa couldn’t quite keep up with the Falconers’ speed, so they did the best they could to clog the lanes, intercept passes and slow the Falconers down.

It was working. The Falconers were getting frustrated, taking bad penalties and some of the younger guys were showing their temper despite the tied score. Bitty saw Jack reach to put a hand on Poots’ shoulder after Poots slammed his stick on the ice on the way back to the bench after a particularly rough shift that saw Poots slammed against the boards as he let the puck skitter away into the neutral zone. Bitty winced at the hit, feeling a sudden pang in his shoulder and ribs. One of the Senators picked it up and came in on Snowy with a two-on-one, raising his stick for a slapshot before sending a no-look pass to his wing. The other player one-timed it under Snowy’s hand, giving the Senators a 3-2 lead with three minutes to go.

Bitty slumped for a moment, then sat up again as Jack hopped over the boards. The rest of the team seemed to catch his intensity, and the took the fight to the Senators’ end, but nothing went in. Jack’s line came off, and Bitty saw him gulp some water and breath before he was back on the ice a minute later.

Marty carried the puck up ice and sent it to Mashkov, who wristed it towards the scrum at the goal mouth. It bounced off someone -- Bitty couldn’t tell who -- before reaching the goalie and fell in front of Jack, who tapped it in between the goalie’s skate and stick with 44 seconds left.

He raised his stick, turning and looking at Bitty as Bitty joined the rest of the crowd in leaping to his feet and dancing along to the celly music.

The Falconers lost in overtime. It had looked like they were going to win; they had the momentum, and they kept the play mostly in the Senators’ end. But then the Senators picked off a misplaced pass and took off, leaving the Falconers to scramble after. This time, the skater with the puck faked a pass, and when Snowy looked to his left, drilled a shot off the right post and into the net.

Bitty saw Jack’s shoulders fall where he sat on the bench, and then he filed into the locker room with his team without so much as a glance towards Bitty and Sam.

“Oh, well, it was a good game anyway,” Sam was saying and Bitty dug out his phone -- stuffed in his pocket for the entire game -- to text Jack. _You still want to meet us? I can get Sam to the airport some other way if you’re not up for it._

He settled back in his seat and said, “Yeah, it was. Tough to lose, though. Let’s hang here a minute until people start to clear out.”

“At least they got a point,” Sam persisted.

“Yeah,” Bitty said, starting to scroll through his phone.

There was a picture in the SMH group chat, obviously taken from the Haus TV, of a shot showing Bitty and Sam from the back, their Zimmermann shirts framing the back of Jack’s jersey, with Jack on the bench in front of them.

 _Way to go, Bits!_ Chowder had enthused.

 _They keep talking about the Zimmermann fan club,_ Ransom chimed in.

 _What do they think we are?_ Holster contributed.

Bitty was smiling at his phone, about to show it to Sam, when a text notification chimed.

_Go ahead and come down. It’s OK. I want to see you._

_On our way,_ Bitty replied before closing the text window.

“Ready?” he said to Sam, nodding to the much emptier aisles.

Later, at dinner, Sam couldn’t stop gushing about how great the game was and how nice the Falconers were.

They were in a booth in a small place in Boston, and Bitty wondered if this what what he sounded like when he was in full ramble mode. But he was grateful, because it seemed to be getting Jack out of his gloom. Sam had gone on about the seats they had, how well the Falconers played, briefly bashed the Senators for their slow-it-down strategy and the officials for not calling more penalties, how great it was when Jack tied the game, how pleasant the players had been in the locker room, even asking about Sam’s hockey team. Bitty had hung back, standing quietly near Jack’s locker while Jack introduced Sam around. Bitty had been to a few games already, and he planned to come to more. While he didn’t usually visit the locker room, it wouldn’t do to draw attention to himself.

It didn’t really work, because Sam kept bringing him into the conversation.

“My friend Eric over there played with Jack,” he would say. “I watched the Samwell team the last two nights, and they are on a whole different level than our team.”

A couple of the players nodded at Eric in recognition, and Mashkov said, “I remember you coming with Zimmboni’s college team. You’re tiniest player I see.”

“But one of the fastest,” Sam defended.

Mashkov smiled. “Maybe so,” he said, looking at Bitty. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You’re about the biggest player I’ve ever seen, so I guess we’re even,” Bitty said, with a smile. “It’s OK. I know I’m small.”

After they finished eating, Sam tried to pay for their meal -- “Come on, I’ve been taking advantage of Eric’s hospitality all weekend, and I haven’t been able to even take him out for dinner!” -- but Jack insisted. “Who at this table is still paying college tuition, and who is making an NHL salary?” he asked, standing and gulping the rest of his water down.

“You’re not gonna win, Sam” Bitty said, standing too. “Just let him. I’ll send him a pie.”

“Fine,” Sam said. “But you’re both getting Vanderbilt hockey T-shirts.”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “I’m gonna hit the head before we go.”

“Meet you at the car,” Jack said.

When he and Sam got outside, Jack said, “I wanted to talk to alone for a minute. I wanted to say thank you.”

Sam nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. But if you were going to give me a shovel talk, I would tell you that I’ve already heard it.”

“Shitty?” Jack asked.

“And Ransom and Holster. And I think Chowder tried, but I don’t think he has it in him to be threatening off the ice. And Lardo -- well, she didn’t actually say anything. It was more a look.”

“Sounds about right,” Jack said. “But I can tell you care about him. So thank you for being good to him.”

“Jack.” Sam swallowed. “I think I should tell you, we’re not really --”

He broke off as Bitty came up and they all got in the car. When Jack pulled over outside the departure doors at Logan 15 minutes later, Bitty and Sam both jumped out, Sam dragging his duffel bag from the back seat. Bitty hugged Sam tightly, for maybe just a second longer than most friends would, and whispered, “Thank you,” in his ear.

“I had a great time,” Sam said releasing him. “You should know I tried to tell Jack we weren’t dating, but I kind of got interrupted.”

He stepped away from Bitty and waved to Jack before disappearing inside the terminal.

Bitty got back in the front seat and Jack put the car in gear. He didn’t say anything until they got away from the airport.

“So, Sam’s really a good guy,” he said.

“Yes,” Bitty said. “I told you that.”

“So did the rest of the team,” Jack said. “I’ve been getting messages all weekend about how nice Sam is, how you and he seem to really get along, how good it is for you to have _a friend_ like him. No one actually called you a cute couple, but it was close.”

There was an edge to Jack’s voice -- anger? Maybe, Bitty thought, but it wasn’t directed at him -- and Bitty wanted to reassure him.

“Jack, honey, you know it’s not really like that. Sam was just playing along to get them off my back. It’s not like we even actually told anyone we were together. We just let them assume.”

“I know,” Jack said. “And it’s not that I’m jealous -- well, maybe I am, but not because I think he took anything that’s mine, or because I think you did anything with him that I thought you’d only do with me. It’s just that, you can hang out with him and dance with him and take him to sleep in your room, and no one has any reaction besides being happy for you, and maybe a little protective of you.”

Bitty raised an eyebrow.

“Basically everybody told him if he broke your heart they’d break his legs,” Jack explained. “They want you to be happy. And I want you to be happy. But I want you to be happy with me.”

“I am happy with you,” Bitty interjected.

“I know,” Jack said. “But nobody else can know that, and that’s not fair for you. You should be able to dance with your boyfriend and hold hands and everything in public, and I know we say someday, but I can’t tell you when that is, and it’s not fair to you.”

Bitty looked at Jack. He was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, eyes locked on the road ahead of him. Bitty wished Jack would at least glance at him, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen.

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” Bitty said, and saw Jack flinch before he went on. “It’s not fair to either of us. You should be able to hold your boyfriend’s hand in public, and, I don’t know, have him sit in the family section at games. Even if it wasn’t me. But there’s good reasons for not doing that, at least not yet, and I get that. I mean, I’m not even out to my parents yet -- and that would have to change if you came out and we made this public. It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault, and I’d rather do this and keep it private than not be with you. Far rather. It’s not even a question for me.”

Jack took a deep breath, exhaled and finally looked at Bitty.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good to know. I mean, thanks. But you might get tired of it. It might get to be too much, and if it does, please tell me.”

He drove a little further before saying, “And just so you know, I always want to see you, even if we just lost a game. You should never have to ask that.”

Bitty thought for a moment, watching the road disappear in front of the car.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” he finally said. “But you’re allowed to want to be alone sometimes. And it wasn't just me tonight. I'm glad you wanted to see us, but needing some time every now and then doesn't make you an awful person.”

Jack hummed something noncommittal and they stayed quiet until they got close to Samwell. 

“How do you want to do this?” Bitty said. “It’s only around 10:15, so everybody will still be up. Think you can get through the kitchen and upstairs without anyone seeing?”

“I can try,” Jack said. “I guess if I get caught I can say I needed the bathroom.”

“OK,” Bitty said. “Drop me in front like you're heading home, and I'll go in through the kitchen. You go around the corner and park, and I'll figure out where everyone is. Wait outside ‘til I text you, OK?”

“Sounds a bit James Bond, but OK,” Jack said, and finally he was really smiling.

Bitty closed the car door a little harder than usual and called, “Thanks for the ride, Jack!” a little louder than necessary. He could see the light in the living room, and the flickering that meant the TV was on, so he was pretty sure at least some people heard him..

Then he went around to the back to enter through the kitchen door.

The kitchen, unsurprisingly, was empty. More surprising, there were no dirty dishes in the sink, and not even clean dishes in the rack. Either no one had eaten here -- or at least, no one had used actual dishes -- or they had actually washed, dried and put away their dishes. Bitty was impressed.

Ransom and Holster were playing NHL 2K16 in the living room, while Chowder pretended to work on homework but really watched them play. Bitty stood in the doorway.

“Hey, guys,” he said, letting his tiredness show. “Have a good day? Where’s Lardo?”

“Um, she said something about laundry,” Chowder said.

Bitty took a step back to listen at the door to the basement stairs. He could hear her moving things around, then he heard the water start in the washing machine. Now or never, he thought, and texted Jack: _Now, but quick. Lardo in basement, everyone else in living room.”_

“Hey, Lardo,” he called. Then he went back to the living room doorway and leaned against the door frame.

“You guys watch the game?” he asked, his eyes tracking the players on the screen as Ransom scored on Holster to tie it up.

“‘Course we did,” Chowder answered, as it became apparent that the D-men weren’t listening. Really, Bitty could sneak an elephant past them right now. “That was a sweet goal for Jack. I don’t know what Anderson was thinking. He should have looked for that.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. 

“Goalies,” he said. “Never give the shooter any credit.”

“Did Sam enjoy the game?” Chowder asked. “I know it would have been better if they won. But you guys looked like you were having fun. You were on TV, like, six times.”

Holster snorted, and Bitty realized there was a break in the action in the video game.

“Yeah, but the announcers kind of screwed it up,” Holster said. “They said they thought both of you played with Jack at Samwell. I wonder who they thought Sam was?”

“Well, they know Bitty, right?” Ransom said. “I mean, he did play in the Final Four, and he kind of stands out with being his size and his hair and all. God forbid they think we hang with anyone not on the team.”

“Whatever,” Bitty said. “Sam wouldn’t mind.”

He’d heard Jack sneak up the stairs behind him, so he yawned widely and said, “I’m beat. I’m gonna head for bed. You want me to lock the back door before I go?”

“Sure, Bits,” Ransom said, already focusing on the next face off.

Bitty crossed back through the kitchen and thumbed the deadbolt to the locked position before going upstairs. The door to his room was closed, the way he had left it, and when he opened it, he didn’t see Jack immediately. The lights were off -- also how he left them -- and the only light filtered through the open curtains from the streetlight outside.

He stepped in all the way. When he turned to close the door, he felt Jack’s hands grasp his hips from behind, followed by Jack’s mouth at his ear.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since I saw that picture,” Jack murmured. “I swear I’m not jealous of Sam, but I wanted to feel your hips move under my hands and I wanted to taste you right here.”

Jack kissed him behind his ear, and pulled Bitty closer to him, until Bitty’s back was pressed to Jack’s front. Bitty could feel Jack’s erection pressed against the small of his back as Jack slid his hands to the front of Bitty’s hips, pulling them together even more tightly.

“I want to dance with you like this,” he said, swaying his hips back and forth. Bitty opened his phone, still in his hand, and started “Halo,” which he privately thought of as their song, tossed the phone on the bed and put his hands on top of Jack’s, moving to the rhythm. Once their bodies were in sync, Bitty trailed his hands over his own torso, dragging up the jersey he still wore, until he could reach behind Jack’s neck and pull him down for a kiss.

Jack’s hands made slow progress around Bitty until Jack dragged one hand up the bulge in Bitty’s jeans, stopping at the button in the waistband.

“Can I?” Jack asked. 

“Please,” Bitty breathed.

Jack opened Bitty’s jeans and pushed them down around his thighs with his underwear, then stroked Bitty’s erection in time with their swaying, firm but not fast, gentle enough that the lack of lubricant wasn’t uncomfortable. 

But Bitty had reached a state of arousal where he would have taken the chafing to get some relief.

“Faster, please,” he said, wriggling up against Jack. 

“Don’t want to hurt you, _lapinou,”_ Jack whispered. 

“Top drawer, bedside table,” Bitty said, looking at the dresser. 

“Too far,” Jack said, then nipped at Bitty’s earlobe.

Jack came around to Bitty’s front and gently nudged him against the door before going to his knees in front of him.

“You look good in my jersey,” he said, before kissing Bitty’s thigh, then the crease of his groin, and finally, finally his cock. Jack used his hand to pull it away from Bitty’s body and taking the head in his mouth. He sucked for a moment, let go, and said, “Remember to be quiet,” before starting again.

Bitty would have thought he lasted an embarrassingly short time if he was capable of feeling embarrassed after his orgasm. Instead, he just felt relaxed and warm and safe as Jack guided him to his bed and helped him out of his clothes before stripping himself and wrapping both of them in Bitty’s duvet.

Bitty reached for Jack’s erection, and Jack said, “You don’t have to. I just needed to touch you.”

“Mmmm,” Bitty said. “And now I want to touch you. Can you reach the lube?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justlookfrightened)!


End file.
